Standing Alone
by Kagura
Summary: Romeo and Juliette, Peanut Butter and Chocolate, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett, Marion Ravenwood and Indiana Jones... They're the greatest couples ever. Let's add Lucy and Caspian to that list. Here are the one-shots for Lucy and the Future King.
1. Chapter One

Voila! This is not for new readers. Sorry. This is for my ladies, and possibly my guys, who read "Lucy and the Future King".

You guys know the drill.

Most of the character's physical descriptions are based off of the movies, except for Lucy. My Lucy, as always, is very much based off of Polina Semionova. I just think she's so pretty. I know she's dark-eyed and dark-haired, whereas movie Lucy has blue eyes, and book Lucy is blonde. Oh well!

By the way, this story is all about shameless fan service. I'm talking gooey, chocolaty sex – hot, decadent, and oh so dark. Meow.

Don't worry; this is still a love story. It's just the kind you read in the bathtub with lots of champagne.

* * *

His eyes met hers across the crowded café. She was lovely, but cold – a statuesque ice sculpture, chilling those who touched her. As always, she was polished and urbane, artfully clothed in the latest fashion; not one lock of her slick, black hair was out of place. Every man in the room was drawn to her. They fearfully stole quick glances at the ebony pillar that was Susan.

Caspian just wanted to get it over with. Susan had a tendency to suck the oxygen out of every room she stepped in. Unfortunately for him, he liked to breathe. Still, she sure was something to look at. And he wanted to know why she had sought him out, even though he had dumped her three months before their wedding.

As he sat down at her table, he couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable she looked. It wasn't that her feelings that had her shifting anxiously, it was shame. She was embarrassed to be seen with him. He couldn't blame her. Unwashed and unshaven, wearing the clothes he had worn the day before, he was just a scuff on her patent-leather self.

"Well, well, well. I never thought this day would come. So, how've you been, Susan dear?" he drawled as he leaned back in his seat. Flagging down a sneering waiter, he ordered gin on the rocks. He didn't even like gin, but in a champagne establishment like this, he was sure to raise a few disapproving eyebrows.

Susan glared at him under perfectly curled lashes. Even now, she was a disdainful bitch. Seeing her lips twist condescendingly reminded why he had run out on her.

"I need a favor. Christ knows you owe me a few."

So this wasn't about what she could do for him.

"I'm all ears."

Peering suspiciously around the restaurant, she leaned forward, her blue eyes guarded, never betraying her true emotions. "I need you to bring my sister back to London."

His jaw dropped in disbelief. She called him because she needed a chauffeur? "Get a damn taxi, Susan. I'm not a babysitter. And since when did you have a sister?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as if he were a dolt. "Yes, I have a sister. Does the name Lucy ring a bell?"

He had to search his memory as he looked into her eyes. He'd met fair-haired, noble Peter, mouthy and rebellious Edmund, and, of course, blue-eyed Susan. The name, Lucy, did sound familiar though.

"Now I remember. Didn't she run off to join the Russian ballet? A little unpatriotic if you ask me."

Susan's eyes barely narrowed. "She was invited to train with the Bolshoi company when she was fifteen. A year later, I get a letter saying she's run off with some Mongolian traders."

Caspian shook his head. "Susan, she should be eighteen by now. You waited two years to do anything about it?"

"I am _not_ my sister's keeper." Her hand tightened infinitesimally around her wine glass. That impeccably painted mask of hers was beginning to crack. Ooh, this was going to be fun.

"But you _are_ her sister, and she _is_ a child. Why go after her now?"

Susan's eyes fell to her lap in a show of remorse, and even fear. For once, he couldn't tell if it was an act.

"I'm frightened that if I don't retrieve her now, war will find her before I do."

Hitler.

The bastard.

Caspian hated the Nazis. It was enough of a reason.

"Do you know where I can find her?

* * *

Susan watched Caspian go with some remorse. She started longingly, regretfully at the sturdy line of his shoulders, the dark, nearly black hair curling over the nape of his neck, his narrow hips, his firm… Well, he was veryhandsome, almost painfully so. But he was wild and reckless, and had no hope of being tamed. She needed someone she could take to chic soirees, not a cowboy.

He loved his rocks more than he loved her. She wasn't important or exciting enough to come first, and she would never, _ever_, play second fiddle.

Besides, he liked digging worthless trinkets out of the dirt for next to nothing.

The last thing she wanted was dirt under her fingernails.

* * *

Three days packing, sixteen hours on a plane, four glasses of brandy, three naps, and one sexy stewardess later, he was in Tibet, shivering on an ice-covered landing strip. Within the hour, he was being led by a withered Sherpa through treacherous mountain passes. The harsh winds blasted them with snow, blinding Caspian while unaffecting the Tibetan mountaineer. He did not know how long they were out in the Himalayan wilderness, but it seemed like ages before they arrived at their destination. But when he saw it, he almost turned back.

It was little more than a yak herding hut with stone walls and a thatched roof. The snow on the ground was littered with hundreds of footsteps of varying sizes, both human and camel. This must've been the local watering hole.

Caspian turned around to thank the Sherpa, but the little old man was gone so fast, it was as if he had never been there. Before he froze to death, he stomped through the crisp, white powder. The door looked like salvaged driftwood. The hinges were rusted and dripping with black oil. This was rough-and-tumble, even for him. He had seen a lot of seedy bars, but none with ox hair caught in the door knob.

This was where Lucy was? If she was anything like Susan, she was probably curled up in a corner, sucking on her fist while she shied away from the dirt and grime.

It took some yanking and shoving, but he finally wedged his way in. He was assaulted by the smell of smoke, sweat and alcohol. The warm air on his cold face was a burning shock, and it already had him sweating beneath his leather bomber jacket. Exhaling heavily, he fell back against the door.

Before he could even take his hat off, something slammed into his face with enough strength to knock his teeth out. He was on his knees, staring down at the muck covered floor as he gasped in pain. Thankfully, his cheek took the hardest hit and not his jaw. But he was either chewing on pennies, or his mouth was full of blood. He'd just been pistol-whipped!

He was about to chew out and possibly killed the bastard who'd gotten in a cheap shot, he found himself staring down the barrel of revolver. He was entranced by the obviously well-cared for gun, its metal oiled and cleaned. This gun was loved. Slowly, his eyes moved up the gun to a blue-sleeved arm, and finally to a pair of pitch black eyes. He'd just been knocked to his ass by an Asian chick.

She was going _down_.

With a well placed low roundhouse kick, he swept her legs out from under her, flinging her into a table. She fell back against a table with a feminine cry, knocking a few glasses to the ground. He only had a moment to enjoy her pain before she kicked him solidly in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

Winded and bruised, he stared up at the ceiling. He'd had his ass handed him to him by a skinny little Asian girl.

Great, he was going to die flat on his back. When he got to heaven, he would have to explain that he lost to a girl – if he got to heaven.

She stepped over him, one foot on either side of his waist. And, as if he wasn't in enough pain, she decided to sit herself down on his pelvis rather forcefully. She just _had_ to wiggle around, adding insult to injury as he felt heat pool in his belly. His dignity was already shredded beyond repair, so being aroused at the wrong time was just icing on the cake.

The Asian broad pressed the muzzle of her gun into his cheek. The cold metal slipped against his sweaty skin, reminding him that he was about to die.

"The bar is closed."

That was no Asian accent.

He had to look at her again. She was milk-pale with cheeks rosy from too much alcohol. But her dark eyes were clear and sharp.

_This _was Susan's sister? But… but she was scruffy and coarse. Her hair fell in dark chocolate hanks around her shoulders, limp and stringy with sweat. She even had a streak of dirt along her forehead.

"You're Lucy?" The gun trembled against his cheek as her hand tightened.

"Who wants to know?" He could detect a hint of trepidation in her tone, a slight catch in her throat.

"Your sister."

All of a sudden she was off of him and stomping towards the bar. He got up slowly, still wary of the girl with the gun. She had a sway to her hips as welcoming as a warm drink on a cold night.

"You want a drink before you leave?" she asked as she puttered around behind the bar, pouring herself what he hoped was vodka. He still didn't trust her, but he was thirsty and in need of something numbing. It hurt like hell, but he peeled himself off of the ground, before dragging his ragged ass to the counter. But as he sat down on a scrubbed wooden stool, he realized that she was dousing some rags with rubbing alcohol.

"So I take it you don't always your door with the butt of your gun." She had the grace to look slightly abashed as she handed him a shot of something that smelled much stronger than vodka. Caspian didn't want any strange infections, so he sighed and took the glass. He watched her carefully as she came back around. As she moved towards him, he could almost see the ballerina beneath the dirt and grime; she had an awkward sort of grace, like she didn't know what do with her long limbs and lean frame.

"This is going to hurt," she said almost soothingly. It was too bad that she sounded like she was going to get pleasure from his pain. He downed the shot, blanching as it burned its way to his belly. She frowned as she came to stand between his knees.

Her sudden closeness was very distracting. His thighs brushed against her narrow, feminine hips. And beneath her button down shirt, she wasn't wearing a bra. He would've gotten a closer look, had she not burned his forehead with the rubbing alcohol.

"Jesus, that stings," he hissed as he pitched forward.

"You can go now." He looked up at her, incredulous and unimpressed.

"You expect me to traipse back down that mountain in the middle of a storm? My mouth tastes like copper thanks to you. You have a house guest tonight."

* * *

She'd meant to ask him how he knew Susan. She'd meant to apologize for possibly breaking his jaw. But then he followed her upstairs to her already small bedroom. And then, to make matters worse, he started poking around when he shouldn't have. He picked through her various treasures acquired over the years, paying special attention to her older finds.

"That's enough," she said as she smacked his hands away when he tried to rifle through some jewelry.

"The last time I checked, grave robbing was illegal." He was obviously talking about her collection of Mesopotamian earrings. She placed herself between him and her goods, staring up at him with more than a little defiance.

"The last time I checked, this was my place, and you were intruding. If you want to make it out alive, I suggest you shut up and go to bed. You'll need your rest for when I kick your ass all the way down the mountain tomorrow morning." His cocky grin sparked her anger, and something sharper as he stepped forward. In his proximity, one of his legs found its way between hers.

"If anything, I'm dragging your ass back to London tomorrow, even if it means spanking you all the way to the airplane." He stalked closer, placing his hands on the wall, one on either side of her head. "You're just a little girl playing brigand in a seedy bar."

"Just how is my sister paying you? I know that paper money isn't worth much right now." A muscle jumped in his jaw as he glared down at her. She was an insolent little bitch playing with fire. But the irritation and antagonism between them was quickly turning into a different kind of fervor. She was the only woman for miles, and beneath the booze and sweat, she smelled like honey and rosehip tea.

He was insufferable and a punk. And, good Lord, he was warm and solid. Maybe she could chase him away… in a few hours.

"She's not my style," he murmured as he leaned forward, pressing his chest against hers. Even through his shirt, he could feel the softness of her curves.

This was bizarre and meaningless. But her hands were steady as she worked him out of his belt. "Are you sure you're not the antichrist?" He meant to sound teasing and light, but his voice was hoarse, and his tone clipped.

Her dark eyes were wicked and evil as they flashed in the dim light. He thought the night was over she slid away from the wall and out of his arms. But she only sat down on her sleeping mat to take off her boots. This was no striptease. Lucy was all business as she mechanically rid herself of her pants. She knew what she wanted – he could tell by the determined set of her jaw. Damned if that wasn't sexy.

He drew a hard breath. "Stop." He caught her wrists, pinning her hands to the mattress; and she kept them there as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt for her.

Caspian didn't like foreplay. It was a waste of time and a distraction. But he was in a frozen hell with nothing to do but enjoy the British barmaid.

Lucy fell back against the pillows, letting him unwrap her with unhurried hands. She shuddered as his hand skimmed under her shirt, smoothing over the skin under her collarbone. His mouth quickly followed as he undid the last button. He didn't yank off the blue fabric. Instead, he just pushed it to the side, revealing the gentle swell of her chest. His hands began to explore her pale and perfect body, moving swiftly and surely over each dip and hollow. She was young and firm, untouched by age or a hard life.

Lazily, Caspian ran his tongue down her collarbone and over her breast, teasing the pink tip to hardness with long, slow strokes.

"Once I start, I don't think I'll be able to stop." He pulled away to look down at her, though the effort cost him.

"Who said I wanted to stop?" Her hands were cool against his burning skin as she tugged his shirt from the waistband of his pants.

"Then we go on."

* * *

There we go, folks! The first chapter, and there isn't much snooker going on. Just a teasing, fade to black scene.

What, I couldn't give it all up on the first day, could I?

Here's the first chapter of this story. LATFK's next chapter is on the way as well.

As always, review.


	2. Chapter Two

Okay, I don't want to screw up our relationship. We know and love each other, right? Let's be honest with one another.

This story is just about, well, Lucy and Caspian makin' wit da l_ove_. Bow whaka chika pow!

I know, that still doesn't explain how ridiculous that last chapter was. They meet, and bam, they have sex? That's crazy!

Or is it?

Think of it this way. She was smashed and he was horny. They had sex just because they could. What else can two attractive people do when they're bored and trapped in a snow storm?

Don't answer that. Just enjoy the shameless fan service.

That's right, I'm talking sex.

Why?

Because I can.

We'll start off with the extended version of the last scene from the previous chapter.

Bwuhaha.

* * *

She'd meant to ask him how he knew Susan. She'd meant to apologize for possibly breaking his jaw. But then he followed her upstairs to her already small bedroom. And then, to make matters worse, he started poking around when he shouldn't have. He picked through her various treasures acquired over the years, paying special attention to her older finds.

"That's enough," she said as she smacked his hands away when he tried to rifle through some jewelry.

"The last time I checked, grave robbing was illegal." He was obviously talking about her collection of Mesopotamian earrings. She placed herself between him and her goods, staring up at him with more than a little defiance.

"The last time I checked, this was my place, and you were intruding. If you want to make it out alive, I suggest you shut up and go to bed. You'll need your rest for when I kick your ass all the way down the mountain tomorrow morning." His cocky grin sparked her anger, and something sharper as he stepped forward. In his proximity, one of his legs found its way between hers.

"If anything, I'm dragging your ass back to London tomorrow, even if it means spanking you all the way to the airplane." He stalked closer, placing his hands on the wall, one on either side of her head. "You're just a little girl playing brigand in a seedy bar."

"Just how is my sister paying you? I know that paper money isn't worth much right now." A muscle jumped in his jaw as he glared down at her. She was an insolent little bitch playing with fire. But the irritation and antagonism between them was quickly turning into a different kind of fervor. She was the only woman for miles, and beneath the booze and sweat, she smelled like honey and rosehip tea.

He was insufferable and a punk. And, good Lord, he was warm and solid. Maybe she could chase him away… in a few hours.

"She's not my style," he murmured as he leaned forward, pressing his chest against hers. Even through his shirt, he could feel the softness of her curves.

This was bizarre and meaningless. But her hands were steady as she worked him out of his belt. "Are you sure you're not the antichrist?" He meant to sound teasing and light, but his voice was hoarse, and his tone clipped.

Her dark eyes were wicked and evil as they flashed in the dim light. He thought the night was over she slid away from the wall and out of his arms. But she only sat down on her sleeping mat to take off her boots. This was no striptease. Lucy was all business as she mechanically rid herself of her pants. She knew what she wanted – he could tell by the determined set of her jaw. Damned if that wasn't sexy.

He drew a hard breath. "Stop." He caught her wrists, pinning her hands to the mattress; and she kept them there as he slowly unbuttoned her shirt for her.

Caspian didn't like foreplay. It was a waste of time and a distraction. But he was in a frozen hell with nothing to do but enjoy the British barmaid.

Lucy fell back against the pillows, letting him unwrap her with unhurried hands. She shivered as his hand skimmed under her shirt, smoothing over the skin under her collarbone. His mouth quickly followed as he undid the last button. He didn't yank off the blue fabric. Instead, he just pushed it to the side, revealing the gentle swell of her chest. His hands began to explore her pale and perfect body, moving swiftly and surely over each dip and hollow. She was young and firm, untouched by age or a hard life.

Lazily, Caspian ran his tongue down her collarbone and over her breast, teasing the pink tip to hardness with long, slow strokes.

"Once I start, I don't think I'll be able to stop." He pulled away to look down at her, though the effort cost him.

"Who said I wanted to stop?" Her hands were cool against his burning skin as she tugged his shirt from the waistband of his pants.

"Then we go on."

Her self-satisfied smile chafed at his resolve. But she had no plans of going any faster. She was a teasing, coy little minx, eager to explore at her own pace.

Stripping him of his clothes and patience, she worked every clasp and button with aching slowness. He was on his back at her behest, reclining against the rough blanket with a sigh. Goosebumps rose over his skin as she raked her fingernails over his chest and flat, hard stomach. This was too much – she was too much.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he claimed her mouth, letting her change the angle of the kiss as she pleased. His hands moved to ease over her hips, pulling her to straddle his thighs. How wonderfully unromantic and noncommittal their little tryst was. But as he gazed up at her, he was struck by how oddly soft she looked. No emotion touched her expression, but she was naturally sweet and appealing. Lucy was no great beauty like Susan, but she was uncluttered – effortlessly pretty.

Caspian's hands were rough against her skin as he smoothed her shirt down her arms. "This is a man's shirt," he informed her smartly as he tossed the rag across the room. She was better off naked.

"It belonged to the guy who used to own this place," she responded with an unguarded smile. They stopped their wordless negotiations and just got on with it. He kissed her with a need matched only by her vigor. As his hand slipped between her thighs to press against her most intimate secret, hers wrapped strongly around the length of his arousal. Caspian wanted to move his fingers and make her burn, but she was already sliding down onto him. He hissed at how _good_ it was; she was tight and slick and as hot as the sun. She wrapped her legs around him, the softness of her thighs against his hips driving him to thrust deep into her.

Lucy's head fell back as he set an enthralling rhythm, his cadence steady and sure. He was firm in every sense of the word; muscular without being bulky and too lean, very aroused, and unyielding as he pulled her against him with every stroke. Sure, they had just met; but she was drunk, she liked sex, and he was the most attractive man she had seen in a while. And his mouth was sinful as it closed around her breast, the moist heat of his tongue skillfully playing over her nipple.

Caspian couldn't be measured or deliberate for very long, not when her inner muscles clenched and quivered exquisitely. And neither could Lucy. She wrapped her arms desperately around his shoulders, kissing him insistently. He clung to her, seeking her soft skin and youthful curves as he rocked them to a strong, shuddering climax. Her cry of delight was muffled by his satisfied groan as they shared slow, lingering kisses. His fingertips traced idle patterns over her sweaty skin they trembled against each other, soothing away sharp, sweet sensation to a more bearable pleasure.

It would be minute or hours before he finally lowered them to the mattress. But eventually they closed their eyes, wrapped around each other. Caspian more slept deeply than he had in a long time, and Lucy went to bed with the warmth of a strong man at her back.

They didn't bother with the blanket.

* * *

Caspian hadn't felt the need to sleep after sex in years. He should've been embarrassed that he was exhausted after one round, but she seemed sated as well. All the same, once wasn't enough. He was ready for another go, but when he went to reach for Lucy, her side of the mattress was empty and cold. That simply would not do.

Opening his eyes took surprising effort, but as he went to reprimand her for not being under him, he realized she was not in the room. It was the size of a postage stamp, so she couldn't be hiding; and the snow was beating so hard against the shack, he was afraid it might cave in.

There were noises coming down from the bar. Maybe she was pouring drinks for them wearing nothing but a smile, and maybe her boots to keep from touching the floor with her bare foot. He thought about walking down naked to have her against a wall, but her voice was not the only one echoing up the stairs. That warranted some pants. As he dressed, he could hear the faints strains of tension and tested patience in her voice, even if he couldn't make out the words. Nevertheless, she sounded like she wouldn't wait around for anyone to rescue her from the situation.

He dressed in record time, determined to get her out of this joint in one piece. Susan offered him a lot of money to retrieve her sister, and he certainly wasn't going to die in the mountains of Tibet, fodder for a yeti. His footsteps down the rickety stairs were muffled by the wind howling through cracks in the walls, so he got downstairs undetected. Hiding in the shadows, he could see her glaring at several well-dressed men from behind the bar. In their crisp black suits and woolen trench coats, they stuck out like a sore thumb in the almost squalid tavern. The cigarettes they smoked annoyed Lucy, he could see that in her wrinkled nose and furrowed brow.

"Nobody tells me what do in my bar," she seethed contemptuously. _What did they tell her to do_, he thought to himself. His trained eye and attention to detail allowed him to see the outline of a shoulder holster on one of the men. Lucy had her own gun tucked into the back of her pants, but these men were much bigger, and presumably stronger than her. She had successfully taken him down, but there was no way she could handle this on her own.

He snuck back upstairs, grabbing his own gun. It was two against five, and if Lucy was as sharp a shooter as he suspected her to be, they were good. Caspian relied on the element of surprise as he made his way to the first floor, but he nearly came out, guns blazing, when he saw that Lucy was on the other side of the bar, her arms held behind her back as the ringleader shoved the muzzle low against her stomach. Lucy was ever valiant, unbroken and unafraid as they threatened her in low tones. His stomach lurched as the guard holding her pressed his mouth against her ear, licking the shell of it before biting down on the lobe.

Caspian only had two phrases in his vocabulary when it came to relationships - 'mine' and 'not yours'. He may have just met Lucy, but she was still his to have sex with until he saw fit. It was a sweet and chauvinistic sentiment all at once. The ringleader's gun moved down her belly until it dipped between her thighs. Lucy just glared and remained quiet, though she shifted uncomfortably. Enough was enough.

He didn't think, just aimed and pulled the trigger. Like that snap of a whip, the bullet snapped through the air, burying itself in the head of the guard holding Lucy in a spray of blood of shattered bone. Their surprise gave Lucy the opportunity to free herself and pistol whip the man holding a gun between her thighs. His jaw broke in sickening crunch as teeth fell to the floor, a few going down Lucy's blouse. Nasty as it was, his shock afforded Lucy the chance to shoot another guard. That brought it down to two against town – two were dead, and one would go home with his mouth wired shut.

Something was not right. Why would these men be interested in a teenage girl living in the middle of nowhere? They looked like they were secret agents or mafia hit men. Lucy must have had something they wanted. But for now, he wanted her, and he did not play nice with others.

"If you don't want to die, you'll turn around and go back to whatever pit you crawled out of." His voice didn't break or tremble, and the command was clear. If the man wanted to live, he would walk away. In the low light, he could see Lucy's white knuckled fists curled around the revolver. She may have been holding a tough front, but he could see she was nervous. And in her anxiety, she pulled too tightly on the trigger. Another thunderous boom rang out, and the man closest to her fell to the ground, his left eye hollow and bloody where the bullet entered his skull.

The last men left, hefting his broken-jawed boss out the door with him. Caspian felt a small surge of victory, whereas Lucy looked terrified beyond consolation. His arrogant smiled only had her rushing up the stairs to her bedroom. Confused, Caspian ran up after her like the hounds of hell were after him. He found her shoving her meager possessions into a small satchel urgently. She pulled clothes and jewelry from several secret hiding places. Some things she was much gentler with; ancient scrolls written on yellowing papyrus, jewelry far too old and delicate to ever be worn, leather bound diaries and maps, and many highly polished fetishes from Asia's earliest nomadic tribes. There were other enviable pieces, but he had bigger concerns.

"And where the hell do you think you're going?"

She looked up at him, something fearsome lying in her dark eyes. Even with half of her face covered in someone else's blood, she was beautiful to behold.

"You think those men worked alone? I have to get out of here, and so do you. I'll lead you back to the airport. From there it's a matter of getting back to wherever you came from." So, she was planning on leaving.

Caspian slid into his leather coat, opening his own bag for her to use. She stared at the unzipped sack in puzzlement. "You're running out of room," he informed her, indicating her nearly full backpack.

"I'm not going back with you," she snarled.

"Not right now you aren't. I don't want those punks to follow us back to London. But we are getting out of here so you and I can have a little chat. I have every right to turn you into several antiquity authorities. Now, shut up and pack."

Together, they nearly cleared out the small tavern. There were so many things that could not be left behind, things that needed to be preserved. If it wasn't a piece of history, it was something priceless. She had handspun silk scarves from China and ivory pendants from Africa. Caspian could tell that she appreciated everything she owned.

What was strange was how little Lucy had retained from her previous life. She had no identifying documents, no dresses or high heeled shoes, nothing that said she was even British. She did have some yellowed pictures with torn edges of her family, but they were very old and crinkled. He would ask her about that later.

When the last of her possessions were stowed away, she set a match to the establishment after dousing it in liquor. Her dispassionate demeanor and casual destruction let him know she had no attachment to the building. She didn't even look back as they made their way down the mountain.

Their trek to the airport was silent – they were too busy being cold and miserable, although Lucy was considerably more comfortable in her fur trimmed boots and butter soft parka. They barely made it in time to catch the first plane out of there. It didn't matter where it went, as long as they got out of Tibet.

The plane was small, cramped, and piloted by an Indian man with an out-of-control white beard and orange turban. He didn't ask for money, just smiled and bowed while speaking Punjabi. And then he closed off the cockpit, leaving Caspian and Lucy alone in a cabin. They were detached from everything that had happened, but Caspian still felt he deserved another go at it with her. And by the way she moved over to his side, so did she.

"You do realize we're about to have sex in a moving airplane, inches away from a psychotic man speaking Sanskrit, right?" he asked her as he took off his coat.

"Punjabi, not Sanskrit. And I just burned down my place of residence. I've _earned_ this." This time, it was a strip tease. She was meticulous and enticing as she slid out of her bulky coat, instantly shedding twenty pounds. But he wished she'd put it back on. He could see the blood on her face and shirt. It was disgusting, for sure, but only because he kept thinking it was hers.

"Come here," he said quietly, roughly. Violence against women was uncivilized and outrageous, but she seemed completely unaffected. As she came to sit in his lap, he took hold of her chin, tilting her head this way and that. No bruise, no scrapes, just blood clumping her eyelashes and hairline. He could smell the other man on her throat and it made bile rise in his throat, killing his libido. "Wait here."

Confused and slightly put out, Lucy shifted off his lap. She's felt the hard bulge in his pants, and he seemed to want her, but as he looked at her face, he'd blanched as if she made his stomach churn. He crawled over her, drawing the curtain back to talk to the little old man who looked like he was carved out of driftwood. Their conversation was brief and involved a lot of hand gestures, but when he returned, he had a canteen and a towel.

Caspian smiled down at his baffled little dove, who looked ashamed and even hurt. As self-sufficient as she was, he could tell that he'd poked her confidence by leaving her. But all was forgiven as he pulled her to sit on his thighs again. And then he was carefully washing her face, moving the rough cloth slowly over her cheeks.

"I wish we could be naked right now. You need a bath more than anything." Ruddy water streamed down her throat, soaking the collar of her shirt. A few buttons later and it was pooling around her waist. He molded the towel to her shoulders, her ribs, the undersides of her breast. Any trace of the blood and dirt was gone, leaving her pale and perfect. But by then, he just wanted to see and feel the way she shivered. Every time she wiggled, the sweet curve of her ass moved over his rock-hard erection in very interesting ways.

He swept his thumbs over her nipples, teasing them to hardness. Her mouth slanted over his, soft and demanding as her tongue lathed hotly against his. Good Lord, she knew how to kiss. The other women he'd been with were too shy or sloppy or inexperienced. But she could arouse him just by nibbling on the bow of his upper lip.

Caspian's hands slid away from her heaving chest, wantonly cupping her bottom. The feel of his body, strong and broad-shouldered, was too good to be inhibited by clothing. She'd learn to undress a man in ways that would turn him to putty, but right now, she just wanted him naked. Heat pooled in Caspian's belly with every fleeting caress, sending fine shivers up his back. It was a complicated tango as they wormed and twisted out of their attire. Lucy had a much easier time, undeniably erotic and limber in her liquid grace. He was more clumsy and hurried, rushing just so he could feel her softness. At the feel of her silky skin against his, he sighed, as if they had been apart months instead of hours. He stroked her hair, her back, anything he could touch.

More than anything, Lucy wanted a man lying over her. She did not want to be the leader. Her home was gone, and the last good memory of it involved Caspian. She wanted to be punished for killing a man, to be dominated. It wasn't masochism she sought; it was the need to be reminded of her femininity. Too long she had been leading a man's life, lost in a world where she couldn't be delicate. He seemed to understand the need in her eyes, the unvoiced plea. Wordlessly, he pushed her to the side, leaving her to shiver in her nakedness as he arranged their coats into a make-shift palette. And then he laid her down into the soft, warm fabric that smelled like Caspian – warm, musky, and very masculine, a blend of sweat and leather.

Laying himself over her, he shivered as her legs parted, giving him room to slide between her thighs. He acquainted himself with every curve and hollow, learning of the places that made her moan and writhe with his lips, his teeth. They should have done this earlier, he realized as his hand skimmed down to curl his fingers into her wetness. She gasped and bit her lower lip, whimpering as his palm moved insistently against the sensitive bundle of nerves. He'd had women, too many to bother remembering, but Lucy made him feel inexperienced and amazed by every reaction.

He licked his lips. "What's your favorite color?" He wanted to know something about her, anything. He wanted something besides her secrets, as enthralling as they were. She gazed up at him longingly, her breath shallow and uneven. But she saw something in his face, something predatory and yearning.

"Brown," she muttered breathlessly. "Brown so dark, it's nearly black."

And he kissed her, with a gentleness that surprised him. This was _Lucy_ he was about to enter, not some hooker with oiled thighs and bought desire. She deserved more than his urge to take. And so he gave, sliding inside of her in one smooth stroke. Her fingers twirled into the slightly curled black hair falling around his temple as she ran her foot over the back of his bare thigh.

Each thrust of his hips was slow and deliberate, a long drawn out motion that had them moaning and sighing. Lucy delighted in the muscles that bunched under her palms as she explored his back with her hands. Caspian grunted in agony and bliss as her slick passage tightened around him. On the brink of climax, he grasped her hips, tilting them up as he pace quickened. Lucy came hard, her orgasm cresting to another as he thrust deeply into her. He was not far behind, groaning as he spilled himself inside of her. Her name fell from his lips like a hushed prayed as he sagged against her, kissing her tenderly as she came down from her peak.

Lucy unhooked her feet from the small of his back, but still kept her thighs pressed to his hips. She threaded her hands through his dark locks, pressing her mouth to his brows and eyes, a reward for how good he'd just been to her.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked melodically as he looked down at her. His eyes traced her face, her collarbones, the curve of her bosom.

"Ivory." He said worshipfully as he kissed her forehead.

From the cockpit, the pilot listened to the soft sounds of true closeness and pleasure. And, like the bull guarding Shiva and Parvati, he was deeply moved by their lovemaking.

He would guard their intimate secrets with pride and honor, and pretend that he didn't hear a thing.

* * *

Wow... That was rather steamy, wasn't it?

Unless it sucked.

Did it suck?

I won't know unless you tell me.


	3. Chapter Three

Here is the next chapter!

* * *

As if getting dressed in a plane wasn't hard enough, Caspian had wandering hands that made the process ten times harder. More than once, she had to slap him away to keep from throwing herself at him. When he realized she wasn't going to give in, he settled on touching her 'inappropriately' as he asked her rather pointless questions.

"Favorite food?" He muttered as he curved his hands over her breasts. While he found it very sexy that she didn't bother with complicated lingerie, his first gift to her would be a bra, or at least an undershirt. It wasn't that she needed the support; he just felt that polite society called for some decorum. If he was going to return her to Susan, she needed to be somewhat ladylike.

What would happen when they got to London? Would she become fashionable and demure, a society girl with very few ambitions in life? Was marriage in her future? Lucy would have no problem finding a husband, once she cleaned up a bit. With some buffing and a fresh coat of paint, she could be just as silly and vain as her older sister. Sure, she wouldn't be some blushing virgin in a white dress, but he could see her living that life.

"Anything sweet and spreadable – whipped cream, chocolate, the like," she replied airily in a sing-song voice. Okay, so maybe she wasn't exactly wife material, but she would make one hell of a mistress; what with her many admirable qualities. He thought he would be bothered that he was sleeping with his ex-fiancé's sister, but Susan was the last thing on his mind as he pulled the small of her back against his pelvis.

"Put that away for now," she giggled as he pressed his hips into her derriere, trying to ease the stiff ache between his legs. "The plane is about to land!"

It was – he could see the clouds dissipating as they descended. He sighed regretfully, letting her gather up their coats since he probably wouldn't be of much help – not when she was bent over like that. The landing was bumpy and had them knocking their elbows and knees into crates. By the time the airplane rattled to a stop, they were bruised, sore and annoyed all around. The moment the small door opened, they were stumbling out onto the landing strip, stretching while they worked the kinks out of their battered limbs. Their ancient, gnarled pilot bowed to them and smiled beatifically, stroking his beard as if he had some secret he was dying to share with them. But he just walked back to his plane, leaving the lovers with their luggage.

They both stared at the aircraft as it took off, leaving them to bake in the desert heat. When Lucy heard the throaty bellowing of camels, she turned around, blinking away the sandy wind blinding her. There, in the distance, was a large city on the banks of a wide river. As she was wiping the sweat from her brow, Caspian came to stand beside her. He too stared at the earthen metropolis, taking in its limestone buildings and domed mosques that glistened like gold.

"Luxor." She looked up at his deep-voiced declaration. His eyes were closed by the sun, crinkled at the corners, making look much older than her was.

"We're in Luxor."

* * *

When they finally found a hotel that wasn't attached to a brothel or opium den, they were sweaty, covered in dust, and roasting in their heavy clothing. Lucy was gaunt and lifeless as she dragged around her suitcase; even Caspian was dead on his feet, light-headed and dehydrated. Luxor was a loud, humid city of bodily delights, from decadent baklava to busty belly dancers. It was not a place to relax, which was all they wanted to do in their fatigue. By some miracle, after checking in as brother and sister, they were able to haul themselves up the stairs to their room.

They'd spent a good portion of their money on the most extravagant suite they could find, needing opulence and comfort after their rough plane ride. The price was worth it for Caspian as Lucy gasped in her excitement. The room was a sumptuous boudoir of rich fabrics and vibrant jewel tones. Caspian had never seen so many pillows on a single bed; there was no blanket, just a divan upholstered in plum silk.

"I think he knows we're not brother and sister." Dropping their bags, he ran his hand over the mattress, enjoying the sleek, smooth fabric. She just gave him a tired smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"I'm going to take a bath." Caspian watched her as she walked away, his eyes lingering on her slumped shoulders.

"I'm pretty sure that's a game two can play."

* * *

As it turned out, it was a game they were too tired to play. Once in the spacious tub, all he could do was pull her back against his chest, letting her rest between his legs. She was slick and soapy in his arms, her soaked hair velvety as he worked it into a sudsy lather.

"I haven't had a real bath in years." Her voice caught on a moan as his dull fingernails grazed over her scalp. Caspian smiled wryly, pressing his lips to her wet shoulder in neat, closed-mouth kisses.

"You smell like it too." He chuckled when she half-heartedly elbowed his ribs. "I'm only kidding. Get back here." She rolled her eyes at his whining as she moved away, sitting opposite him. Seeing her dip back to rinse her tresses reminded him how much her appearance had changed in the two days they'd been together. Underneath the soot, dust and sweat, she was clean and cool. Her brown tresses went from grungy and inky to a warm, dark chocolate.

Under his heavy, penetrating stare, Lucy shifted uncomfortably. She'd already slept with him, and he already knew how to make her moan, but they were skipping all of the necessary steps new lovers had to take. She didn't even know his last name. But as he looked at her, he seemed to know all of her worst secrets. Her eyes were dark, but they had nothing on his - nearly black and sharp like onyx. There was a streak of cruelty and violence that she wasn't sure he wouldn't use on her. Ducking down until her chin was even with the water, she tried a tremulous smile, but it fell before he could see it.

Damn it, he wanted to be _inside_ of her. He could feel her calves brushing up against his thighs, her skin as smooth as honey. But she looked so young then, so wary. His throat tightened painfully as he remembered that she was barely eighteen, and lastingly kindhearted beneath her resilient mask. He'd had sex with her just to have sex with her. Lucy deserved the cuddling and laughter a boy her age could bring her. On the other hand, she seemed to know what she was doing. When they were together, she wasn't cock-shy or fumbling.

It didn't change the fact that she was Peter and Edmund's baby sister. He had very little affection for Susan anymore, especially after meeting Lucy, but he still kept in touch with the Pevensie boys. Peter was one of his closest friends, the noble counterpart to Caspian's questionable morals. And he owed Edmund a fishing trip.

_Fuck them_, he thought contemptuously. _I'm here, and they're not_.

"Why didn't your family come looking for you?" Her eyes were wide and stunned in her pale face. She still looked a little chary, but softened instantly when he drew her foot out of the water. When he started kneading her highly arched instep, she went limp like a sleepy kitten. He half expected her to start purring.

"Because Susan is the only one who knows. My two brothers think I'm still in Moscow. I send them letters occasionally, like… once a year, on birthdays. They chalk it up to the unreliable Russian postal system." He smiled as she wiggled her toes, before kissing her ankle. The poor girl, she had scars from calluses that had been rubbed raw, and toes that looked like they had been broken several times over. No wonder she'd quit dancing. "Susan never told them because she was determined to marry her current beau at the time. Something about old money and the wedding of her dreams. Knowing Peter, he'd drag her all the way to Siberia if it meant keeping the family safe."

_Current beau?_

_Old money?_

_Shit._

He'd met the Pevensie family just weeks after Lucy's departure, at some gala in London. By the time the letter should have arrived, Susan was looking at venues and caterers for their impending nuptials. Three months later he was gone, and the rest was history.

"How do you know Susan? One of her ex-boyfriends?" An illicit thrill shot through his groin as she hauled herself out of the water to sit on the edge of the tub. His mouth went dry as she poured handfuls of water over the tight peaks of her chest, washing away the rest of the soap. The rosy tips pebbled in the warm air, causing his erection to harden almost painfully. The water was suddenly too hot, or maybe it was just the flush that worked his way up his chest.

"I guess you could say that. It doesn't… bother you?"

"Not really. After tonight, we'll never see each other again." Lucy just wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel, and gave Caspian a smile that obviously had nothing to do with him. For his part, he was taken aback.

"Wait a second! We haven't discussed that yet." Without much thought, or a towel, he hopped out of the tub and followed her into the bedroom.

"What is there to discuss? I let you tag along, now it's up to you to find your own way out," Lucy tossed nonchalantly over her shoulder as patted herself dry. Caspian's nerves strained so severely he could feel them breaking with every second. What was it about her that had his moods changing at the drop of a hat?

"Listen, _sweetheart_, I don't get paid unless I return you to your family. And you have no ties to Luxor, no friends. You would be stranded without me." She just laughed. _Laughed!_

"I'll pay you double, I'll set up shop, and I'll make friends." His eyes narrowed as she sat down at the vanity, toweling her hair dry in the mirror. He was momentarily sidetracked by her naked back, but then he was doubly irritated.

"Like you made friends with me?" An idea popped in his, devious and probably unsound. But there was nothing he could offer her to make her stay, nothing she couldn't get elsewhere. The unreasonable, jealous part of his mind told him that he should prove that he was the best she'd ever find, while the much smaller, more sensible part insisted on ignoring her altogether. While she combed her hair, he inched over to his bag.

"You're not my friend, you're my lover. And not for much longer." How could she just pass him off like that? So lightly, as if he were entirely unimportant. If he were easily offended, he would've been hurt. "Don't worry about me; I'm sure there is somebody who'll help." His mouth thinned in anger. He wanted to shout at her that he had helped her, but his hands were slightly busy. A good thing too, if she didn't want him to strangle her.

"I'll give you letters to send to my siblings. Susan should pacified that I've at least made it to civilization." She didn't know if she'd hurt him or not, and she didn't care. There was no way in hell she would go back to living the life of a delicate society girl. Lucy would rather die young from self-destructive behavior than be caged by narcissism like Susan. In the mirror, she saw Caspian handling something, probably his clothes. As much as she liked him naked, it was probably for the best. She had a feeling he was too angry with her to spend their last night in each other's arms. Oh well – there were other men.

She wasn't certain if they were better men though.

"Don't be angry with me, we knew this would happen," she cooed as he came to stand at her shoulder, his hands behind his back. The man in the mirror had dark, determined eyes and a wry, satisfied smile. She answered with a quirky grin of her own. A touch of something victorious and unsettling glinted in his gaze, but she ignored it as he tugged the towel away from her torso. "See?" Her eyes closed as his mouth worked its way down her spin. When she felt his cheek touch the small of her back, she couldn't help but reach behind, seeking his skin beneath her fingertips. "There's no reason to… HEY!"

Something coarse wrapped around her wrists, snapping her hands together as it tightened sharply. Frantically she turned around, but without her arms to balance her, she toppled to the ground in an embarrassing heap of jumbled limbs. Looking up, she saw him coiling a length of rope around his hands. The asshole had tied her up!

No wonder he looked so pleased. She tried kicking at his shins, but he side-stepped her every attempt, chucking at her misfortune.

"Darling, if you keep doing that, I'm going to tie your ankles together." The threat alone had her lying still, blushing at her state of undress. It wasn't her nakedness that bothered her, it was the fact that she had no other choice. Lucy wanted to spit on him when he wrapped her towel around his hips. "Aw, your indignation is so cute."

She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. This was all so unfair, so undignified. It only got worse when he hauled her over to the bed.

"You're going to talk, and you're going to talk _now._" She wiggled and writhed erotically on the silken bed, though he knew it was unintentional. But then she had to shove her foot solidly into his stomach. He only rolled his eyes and sat astride her hips, his knees pressing into either side of her tidy waist. "Who were those men in Tibet? Were they Russian, German? They sure as hell weren't Asian."

Her eyes were glassy and defiant as they glared up at him.

"They were Spanish."

His heart ached when her voice caught on a sob. Angry tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she did not weep. Sighing, he helped her to sit in his lap, but he didn't unbind her hands.

"Spanish?" He kissed away the salty, silver streaks from her cheeks, her eyelashes. "Why Spanish?"

"Because they worked for General Francisco Franco."

_General Francisco Franco…?_

"The fascist dictator of Spain?!"

Lucy nodded.

Susan was too late.

War had already reached Lucy.

* * *

Bwuhaha, a plot disturbs the smut!

And you thought I wouldn't throw one in.

Don't worry, the next chapter will have some sexing.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Baby!

* * *

It was easiest to start at the beginning.

"I really was a student in Russia."

Caspian was amazed by the transformation Lucy underwent in only a few minutes. All bravado and grandiosity was gone from her personality. He finally saw the quiet and down-to-earth girl that Susan always spoke of. His charge had never looked so small and lost. For once, her spirit matched her age and virtue.

"I went to school, lived in a dorm, and practiced my barre work nearly five hours a day, six days a week. It was no use though. I'd never be able to join a company."

They sat across from one another in a small, crowded café, drinking little cups of coffee with small spiced pastries.

"Why not?" he questioned quietly as he added sugar to his bitter beverage. Turkish coffee was so strong it almost hurt to drink it bare.

"I'm too tall." Lucy's lips were turned down and her eyes were huge. Unlike Susan, she had no hope of masking her emotions. Her disappointment was as obvious as scarlet lipstick on a pale face.

"You're barely five-foot-six."

"Most Russian ballerinas are within four-eleven and five-three. Danseur nobles aren't much taller. I was invited to stay and train, but I wasn't good enough to get a job anywhere else. However, it wasn't my dream."

She paused to eat, or to ponder the information she had just revealed. He doubted her family was privilege to this knowledge.

"After I learned I was going nowhere… I started sleeping with everyone I could. It started with a rather attractive ballet master, and ended with a French archaeologist."

He immediately perked up, though it might've been the cup he had just finished. "What French archaeologist?"

"Nino Dufayel."

"Nino Dufayel?"

Nino Dufayel was an explorer with the National Geographic Society. For many years, he had traveled extensively through the deserts of China and Mongolia, chasing Bactrian Camels and dinosaur bones. He was harmless, handsome and rich. There was no doubt a young girl would be attracted to a man like Monsieur Dufayel.

"He's nearly fifteen years older than you."

"Yeah, he was. But we had fun together. Eventually, when he had to return to his wife and three daughters, he offered me a plane ticket to wherever I wanted to go. I took it, and headed to Spain."

"How old were you?" Caspian was surprised by how much he sounded like his father.

"Sixteen. We're not going to tell Peter that."

"We're not telling Peter _anything_." Peter had a tendency to get a little trigger happy when he was mad, and Caspian was too young to die.

"So I went to Spain. I'd always wanted to eat paella in Barcelona. There I… met someone." Her cheeks were bright red, and her smile was just a little too innocent.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Let's skip to the end."

"He was Francisco Franco's personal hairdresser. When he slapped me one night, I stole jewelry worth a small fortune."

Caspian groaned and ran a hand over his eyes. "How much?"

"Seventy-five-thousand American dollars."

"Franco's a rich man. That's not so much."

"Including a Greek diadem from the Ptolemaic Dynasty of Egypt."

Caspian felt his throat tighten to a pin hole. In a war torn world where money was worthless, such an antiquity was a powerful commodity.

"I almost don't want to know what else you stole."

"Then you don't want to know about the Russian ring he meant to give to Carmen Polo."

He _really_ didn't want to know about that.

* * *

The extent of Lucy's pilfering was downright astounding. Their coffee was finished in a rush, and before she could even protest, he was herding her back to the hotel. Under his careful eye, she carefully arranged her prizes on the bed.

There were only seven pieces to be had, but they were glorious. There were sterling silver anklets from India that were dripping with pearls. They were matched by a bridal Tika studded with smaller pearls and lapis lazuli. The set was obviously made in the fifteenth century, under Mughal rule.

That Grecian diadem Lucy had mentioned earlier was absolutely stunning. It was handcrafted from silver, cast and forged into the shape of a serpent with thousands of glittering scales. The snake's eyes were made of glowing rubies. It was magnificent.

But it was the Russian ring that pièce de résistance. There were no words powerful enough to describe its beauty. It was in chorus delicate and durable. The yellow gold setting was almost invisible beneath dozens of tiny champagne, pink and chocolate diamonds. Some wear pear cut, others marquis, and they surrounded a three-karat, princess cut red spinel.

"I know this ring," he breathed fearfully. "For her coronation, Catherine the Great wore a crown adorned with five thousand diamonds. It was topped by a red spinel that weighed nearly four-hundred carats. There were rumors that it was part of a complete set – a necklace, earrings, the works. None were ever found."

Caspian sighed and peered curiously at Lucy. Her expression was blank and betrayed nothing that she was feeling. He had a feeling his conversation would be completely one-sided.

"I don't understand though. If there are other pieces, they would certainly cost more than… than a hundred of these rings. All things considered, this is a trifle." When she didn't respond, he continued without missing a beat. "Most of the Russian crown jewels were sold at auction in 1927, so if there was a set, there'd be no way to find him. I guess that's why he'd be anxious to get it back."

Finally, Lucy showed some discomfort. She sat down on the bed, wincing as she tried to get comfortable. Looking at her big eyes and pretty mouth, Caspian had a breakthrough. "It's not the ring he wants. It's _you_." Minutes passed before Lucy reluctantly nodded. "You know where the rest of the pieces are."

For some baffling reason, his accusation made her smile and nod enthusiastically.

"I know where almost _everything_ from that auction is. None of the truly important pieces from the State Diamond Fund were items there, but seventy percent of the original collection was sold. A lot of it was small pieces, rings and necklaces, but combining their price and history… they're worth more than Buckingham palace."

He could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Lucy was right. Paper money was worthless. Jewels and gold, on the other hand, were a timeless form of currency. Caspian wasn't poor, he was descended from Spanish royalty, but would he still be rich after Europe healed? Destitution wasn't something he feared, but the restricted movement that went along with it scared him deeply. With all that money, he and Lucy could hide away wherever they wanted.

Maybe even together.

"How do you know where they are?"

With all the vigor and candor of a giddy school girl, Lucy dug through her satchel and pulled out the blue shirt she'd been wearing when she first met him. It was still ugly and ragged; but when she unexpectedly sat in his lap (which was rather nice), he was stunned to see that the lining was crowded with embroidery. It wasn't flowers or paisleys, but names, numbers, dates and addresses. There were even a few crudely stitched images of paintings and jewelry. In the sleeve of one arm there was even a map of Greece!

"I thought you said the man who gave this to you was the man who owned the bar," he replied, astounded as read through the extensive and unexpected document.

"I did, and he did. Before he was a bartender, he was an auctioneer at Christie's in London. He retired to Tibet so he could be with his Tibetan boyfriend. When I found the jewelry, I did a little bit of investigating. I sold one piece back to the auction house, and they gave me a plane ticket and an address. Albert, the auctioneer's name was Albert… well, he liked me and gave me a job."

Caspian was almost breathless with excitement. "He gave you more than a job. We could sell all of those back to the Kremlin, and be set for life!"

Lucy shook her head solemnly.

"No."

He desperately wrapped his arms around her, pinning her against his chest. "But… but Lucy! According to your shirt, there are paintings by Degas and Caravaggio that have been missing for years! Isn't that worth trying for?"

"There's no way any of these items, rare and wonderful as they are, would be able to survive the ravages of war. If they ever fell into the wrong hands, they'd be melted down or scrapped.

"I've made several copies of the information in this shirt. You saw the books as I was packing them. I'm going to hand all of them over to the English authorities as soon as possible."

Every piece of the puzzle fell into place at that exact moment. Franco, Hitler and Mussolini sought to own history, through invasion, murder, and subversively the acquisition of art and jewelry. Hitler was rumored to have his own private museum, with several pieces from the Bauhaus school that Hitler himself closed. So to have such a treasure map was too tempting to ignore. If Lucy handed herself over, she would die and several works of art would die with her.

"I could fucking kill you right now. I really could." Caspian was almost shouting now, even though she was inches away from his face.

"How can someone so pretty be so fucking stupid?"

"You think I'm pretty?"

"You're so missing the point here. How are we going to get out of this?"

Intent on being distracting, she kissed him quickly before he could say anything. He fell silent under her mouth, and before he could return this unexpected affection, she was pulling back with a knowing smile.

"I'm going to sell the diadem back to the Egyptian Antiquities Authority."

"That is the _dumbest_ idea I have ever heard of."

* * *

The night was much cooler than the day, and the change in temperature reinvigorated them enough, that they made good use of their new room. It just seemed like a good thing to do. Afterwards, as Lucy lay sleeping beside him, Caspian was consumed with thoughts of worry and greed. That shirt was worth… He didn't know what it was worth, but at auction, amongst interested buyers, it could be the sale of the century.

But said interested buyers were thieves, rapists and nationalist fanatics. Only the bad guys would waste time during war buying jewels and portraits. If that were so, then why didn't Lucy just destroy all the evidence, liquidate her assets and hide in one of those big squares states in America? Like Missouri or North Dakota. She could be a cowgirl or something equally feminist.

Some part of him was ecstatic that he had found her. As long as she was within arm's length, she was safe. However, as he stare at her naked back, he was struck with the desire to take all those jewels, hop a plane to New York, and sell them to a museum – and why not?

She was fixed on leaving him behind, so why not let her have her way? It wasn't like Susan was his main concern. If anything, he was doing this for Peter and Edmund (though Peter was still a rival in some was). Lucy was an adult, albeit a young one. Her siblings had no right to police her, and neither did he for that matter. She was wild, and he doubted anyone could change that.

"You're not asleep. Is everything alright?" Lucy hadn't turned around, but he could feel her sympathy. She cared that he couldn't sleep. It was rather charming.

"I don't know what we're going to do next. I can get you to Cairo, but it won't be safe."

"You don't have to stay if you do have to."

"I want to stay."

And that was the truth.

* * *

Whew! I need a cigarette.


	5. Ho Ho Holy Shit!

Hey everybody! No, this is not a chapter, although there's a few updates on the way. I'll have them posted within a week or so. This is a ballot for this year's Christmas special. If you've read 'The Prince of Thieves', then you've already seen this ballot, and maybe even voted. If you have voted, you're more than welcome to vote again.

Post your results in a review!

* * *

1. Universe

a. Prince of Thieves  
b. Berlin After Dark  
C. Lucy and the Future King  
d. Standing Alone

2. Theme

a. Dinner  
b. Mistletoe  
c. Christmas Morning  
d. Argument

3. Mood

a. Tense  
b. Sexual  
c. Surprised  
d. Content

4. Location

a. Bedroom  
b. Bathroom  
c. Living Room  
d. Outdoors

5. Other Lead Pairing

a. George/Laura (Lucy's Parents)  
b. Peter/Gwen (oh my goodness!)  
c. Miraz/Prunapismia  
d. Glozelle/Prunapismia


End file.
